


Friendship ain't forever

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Hickey sees William Johnson's corpse for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship ain't forever

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile ago on my tumblr (sittingroundthesamovar.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfiction)

 William isn’t waking up. 

Thomas almost laughs because he can’t feel a pulse anywhere and the way William is lying (his boss, best friend, always been there) very nearly makes it look like he’s dead. The blood at his chest completes the illusion, but Thomas knows better.

Always been one for tricks, has William. He’ll start chuckling soon, or maybe rouse from his nap in a suitably odd place. Smile, and laugh that Thomas nearly fell for it. They’ll tell his wife, Mary, when she gets back from visiting her tribe up north and she’ll smile and laugh too.

Thomas’ hands shake as they feel urgently at the neck, the wrist, hover above nose and mouth. His face is hot and his breath is shuddering and the remaining guards look on worriedly, having sent word to the other Templars.

"Get up," Thomas mutters. "Get up, idiot. Ain’t no time to play games. We got to get that assassin."

William doesn’t respond. He’s looking awfully pale for someone who’s held their breath for such a long time. Thomas slaps his face, lightly.

"Come on, Mister Kenway’s going to be here soon. You got to get up, don’t want him thinking you’re some lazy bugger who can’t handle a little cut on the chest, eh?"

William is still. William is silent. William is unresponsive.

Thomas shakes him hard. 

"Get up!" he spits, losing his temper. "Why’s it so hard for you now? Just get up, say sorry for the shitty joke! Buy me a drink, we’ll have a laugh, you got me, har har."

William is cold, his only movements those caused by Thomas’ desperate attempts to rouse him. 

A bit like a corpse, really. Thomas jerks his hands away, like they’re burnt, and he’s not sure exactly why. William can’t be a corpse. They played cards just last week.

"You never scared me before," Thomas says, and for some reason he can’t see all too clearly. "Well done to you, mate."

He hasn’t cried since he was a toddler, and he isn’t about to start now. Some undeterminable amount of time passes, as one by one the rest of the order arrive. Mister Kenway’s first, coldly examining everything from afar, though he does offer a solemn nod to Thomas. John brings an apologetic and sympathetic pat on the shoulder, Charles a sombre meeting of the eyes and Benjamin mutters a few words about what a good man William was.

Was. William is a ‘was’. He does not exist anymore. 

Thomas shuts his eyes, and slowly climbs to his feet. He doesn’t know how long he’s been kneeling in the dirt, but Christ above his knees hurt.

He needs a drink. Something strong and fast acting. Rum’ll do. William always had the best stash, in one of the little meeting houses on the grounds.   
  


Thomas stumbles off in the right direction, not really caring about the cleanup operation Haytham is directing. Let them take care of burning the mercenary and native bodies. Thomas’ll turn up to William’s funeral and pinch the booze from the wake. He’s good at that. He’s good at just existing. 

That’s more than what can be said for William’s dead body.

 

 


End file.
